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Being Jewish in 2025: How the Light Gets In
Leonard Cohen in concert in 2008. Photo: Wikipedia.
Several years ago, I took my son — then barely a year old — to the Jewish Museum on the Upper East Side of New York to see the exhibition Leonard Cohen: A Crack in Everything.
I remember stopping outside the museum, his stroller facing a large poster of Cohen’s face. The words of his lyric stretched across it: “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” My son couldn’t read, of course, but he stared at that image intently, as if trying to make sense of what all the grown-ups were looking for. It was a tender, ordinary afternoon in New York; a father and child visiting an exhibit, a small act of continuity in a busy city.
I didn’t know, then, how much those words would matter. I didn’t know we would soon live through a pandemic that would empty museums, synagogues, and schools; that we would witness October 7 and the eruption of antisemitism across campuses and public life; or that our civic order itself would begin to feel so fractured. “A crack in everything” turned out not to be metaphorical. It became the condition of our world.
This fall, I returned to the Jewish Museum with that same son, now old enough to read and to ask questions. The museum has been newly curated, and for the first time in years, it feels unmistakably Jewish — rooted, confident, and proud of its inheritance. Where the earlier exhibit and show universalized Cohen’s lyric into a cultural meditation, the new curation situates Jewish endurance at its center. On the fourth floor, in large letters on the wall, the lyric reappears: “There is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
Standing there with my son, I realized how the meaning had changed, not in the words, but in us.
Cohen wrote these words as part of his song, “Anthem,” most likely as a meditation on imperfection and redemption. Its refrain — “Ring the bells that still can ring / Forget your perfect offering” — rejects the false purity of utopianism. It is a deeply Jewish idea: the world is broken, and we are called to repair it, not replace it. The crack is not a flaw to be sealed over; it is the aperture through which holiness enters.
In the years since COVID-19 and October 7, I have found myself returning to this idea again and again. We have endured illness, isolation, and war; the rise of antisemitism on campuses and in the streets; and a moral confusion that has left many young Jews disoriented. In all of it, Cohen’s words have felt like instruction, not sentiment. They remind us that despair is easy but empty, and that to be Jewish is to choose life even in the face of fracture.
When the Jewish Museum chose to display this line so prominently, it was making a quiet but profound statement: that Jewish art, faith, and memory are not defined by victimhood or perfectionism, but by resilience. The museum, like Cohen’s song, acknowledges the world’s cracks and then insists that light can still enter through them.
The museum itself embodies this renewal. By firmly embracing its Jewish identity, the museum has become what it was meant to be: a cultural and spiritual home, not merely a secular art space with Jewish footnotes.
Hebrew inscriptions are allowed to stand proudly, ritual objects are presented as living tools rather than anthropological artifacts, and modern works converse openly with ancient forms. It situates Jewish creativity not as a curiosity within modernity but as a moral partner to it.
That, too, echoes Cohen. His art was never about erasing tension between the sacred and the profane, but holding it. His Judaism was both universal and particular, both Montreal and Jerusalem, both psalm and protest.
When we reached the upper gallery, my son stopped before a remarkable Torah scroll, preserved under glass. The scroll, with its Hebrew letters still dark and deliberate, was said to have been desecrated by British soldiers in 1776, when the New York congregation fled the city with General Washington’s retreating troops. It now sits restored and revered, the centerpiece of the museum’s reimagined space. I watched my son peer into the glass, his reflection hovering over the ancient words. It was as if he were seeing the story of endurance itself: the unbroken chain of reading, repair, and renewal that defines Jewish life. Behind him, an ornate ark shimmered with gold and blue, a reminder that even in exile, beauty and faith persist.
In that moment, Cohen’s line — “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in”- – felt literal. The glass case reflected both fragility and illumination. A text once defiled now stands at the center of a museum reborn. My son’s gaze met that light, and I thought: this is how transmission happens; not through lectures or manifestos, but through wonder, through seeing something both broken and whole.
There is also a civic lesson here. Cohen’s “crack in everything” is really about how communities respond to brokenness. Liberal democracy, too, depends on the belief that imperfection is not fatal — that disagreement and difference can coexist with shared purpose.
In today’s cultural climate, that belief is under strain.
But the Jewish tradition — and the American civic tradition — teach the opposite. They teach that truth and light emerge through argument, through the wrestling Jacob undertakes with the angel, through the contestation of the prophets and the debates of the Talmud.
“Ring the bells that still can ring,” Cohen says — meaning, use what still works, and keep faith with what remains, even when it is partial or cracked. Civic renewal depends on that same spirit. The Jewish Museum’s new presentation is an act of such faith. It does not paper over pain, nor does it instrumentalize suffering. It invites viewers — Jewish and not — to see continuity amid rupture. And in doing so, it offers a civic model: that communities can be honest about their wounds without surrendering their worth.
This lesson feels especially urgent after October 7. The massacre in Israel and the subsequent eruption of antisemitism across the West have revealed just how fragile moral clarity has become. Many institutions that speak endlessly of justice have struggled, or refused, to name evil when it targeted Jews. The cracks in our civic and moral order were exposed. And yet, even here, light can enter.
In my discussions over the years with the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, he often reminded me of a truth at the heart of our tradition: Our task is not to perfect the world but to begin the work, knowing it will never be complete. That sentiment has never felt more relevant.
Leaving the museum that afternoon, my son looked up at the inscription one last time. “That’s a good idea,” he said, in the simple way children speak when they sense something true. It was a moment of grace; a reminder that memory, art, and faith can transmit strength even across generations that know only fragments of what came before. Someday he may bring his own child here and look again into that same glass, seeing both the cracks and the light and know they belong to him.
Cohen’s lyric is not only a song; it is a theology of hope. The Jewish Museum’s decision to foreground it is an affirmation that Jewish culture remains, at its core, a beacon of light amid brokenness. And that lesson is one America needs desperately right now: that cracks are not endings but invitations — inspirations to rebuild, to renew, and to let the light in.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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What Israel Can Learn From American Thanksgiving
A traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Photo: Wikimedia Commons.
Gratitude is a deeply Jewish concept, emphasized in the Biblical text, the Talmud, Jewish law, and throughout rabbinic thought. Most significantly, gratitude is woven into the rituals of daily life, including the first statement of “modeh ani” that we recite upon waking each day as well as in the morning blessings.
This overlap between the value Judaism places on gratitude and the theme of the upcoming American holiday of Thanksgiving gives us a reason to truly recognize that day as a Jewish experience. But there is another deep connection between Judaism and Thanksgiving, one that Jews everywhere, including in Israel, should be more aware of and embrace.
Many of the values that the United States was built on, including justice, equality and freedom, stem from the Bible and Judeo-Christian tradition. This should be a reminder that here in Israel as well — the land where those ideas started — we should be more cognizant of those values as a society, especially in these challenging days as we rebuild after more than two years of war and face deep divisions among ourselves.
On Nov. 26, 1789, President George Washington proclaimed a day of public thanks, saying gratitude wasn’t just a feeling but a national duty, “acknowledging … the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.”
His statement reflects the influence of the Bible on the Founding Fathers’ worldview — and not simply because he referred to the Almighty. Rather, it is important to recognize that many of the values that Americans are especially grateful for on Thanksgiving — the values that allow a form of government for safety and happiness — are derived from Judeo-Christian concepts.
As outlined in his book Reading the Bible with the Founding Fathers, Daniel L. Dreisbach, a professor at American University, describes the Bible as the most read and most quoted book in early American political discourse. Stories and quotes from the Bible were used to justify civil resistance, examine the rights and duties of citizens, and understand the role of political authority. Early American politics and its groundbreaking democratic system can only be understood properly by understanding the role of the Bible, he writes.
The Declaration of Independence and Constitution are secular documents, but the ideas contained in them have unmistakable direct roots in values illustrated in the Bible.
Although the United States faces many challenges, and the Biblical values of justice, equality, and personal freedom are not always upheld as they should be, the ideal of these values has been front and center to the country’s success and to the opportunities it has given to millions, including my own father, my in-laws, and grandparents, who immigrated to the US from the ashes of the Holocaust and were able to freely raise a Jewish family.
In Israel, also a democracy, political and community leaders need to recommit to the values of freedom, equality, and justice, especially now — not just in theory, but in policy and practice.
Even though Israel remains without a constitution, these values need to be paramount, both in speech and action; in classrooms and courtrooms; in the Knesset and in the beit knesset. Freedom must extend to agunot, women trapped in marriages that have fallen apart and are often abusive, because their husbands refuse to grant them the halachic get required for a legal divorce. Jewish law demands that state rabbinic and government officials must do more to ensure the religious and civil laws are used in ways that promote freedom and dignity for these women.
Equality must be extended to minorities, including Arabs, Muslims, Christians, and Druze, who often face discrimination. From the lack of government investment in these communities to the racism expressed by some politicians, community leaders, and parts of the general public, minorities often do not receive fully equal treatment. Equality is also a value that needs to be embraced by the citizens. The most glaring example of this today is the continuing refusal of the ultra-Orthodox sector to serve in the army, which puts an undue heavy burden on those who do serve, including secular and religious Jews, Christians, Druze, and Bedouins.
Perhaps an approach that can help is trying to be more thankful for and aware of these democratic values derived from our very own Jewish tradition, especially now as we attempt to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Part of being thankful is looking beyond ourselves.
This is illustrated in a powerful way in the order of the words in the morning recitation of “modeh ani” — “thankful am I.” Usually the order would be “ani modeh” (“I am thankful”), but this prayer flips that order, emphasizing the thankfulness before the “I.” This implies we are better off as individuals, as a family, community and as a society when the first word out of our mouths is “thanks” rather than “I.”
During the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln established an official date for Thanksgiving as a national holiday and called on everyone to care for the widows, orphans, and the wounded as the nation sought healing. This is the spirit we need in Israel now: to use gratitude as a moral call to rebuild our society, rooted in the very Biblical values that have long given hope to the world.
Rabbi Dr. Brander is the President and Rosh HaYeshiva of Ohr Torah Stone, a network of 32 educational institutions in Israel. He previously served as a vice president at Yeshiva University in New York and is Rabbi Emeritus of the Boca Raton Synagogue in Florida.
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Israel Launches New Military Operation in Northern West Bank
Israeli soldiers walk during an operation in Tubas, in the West Bank, Nov. 26, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Mohamad Torokman
Israeli security forces took up positions inside the northern West Bank city of Tubas on Wednesday and ordered some Palestinian residents from their homes in a counterterrorism operation.
Tubas Governor Ahmed Al-Asaad told Reuters Israeli forces, backed by a helicopter, were encircling the city and establishing positions across several neighborhoods.
“The incursion looks to be a long one; occupation [Israeli] forces have driven people from their houses, commandeered rooftops of buildings, and are conducting arrests,” he said.
The Israeli military said the operation carried out with police and intelligence forces began early on Wednesday following “preliminary intelligence identification of attempts to establish” terrorist strongholds and infrastructure.
The military said it located “an observational control room” during its searches of dozens of homes in the West Bank.
Israeli vehicles could be seen driving through the city, with troops patrolling streets carrying rifles and rocket launchers. Troops were also seen in the nearby town of Tammun.
PALESTINIANS ARRESTED, TROOPS SET UP ROADBLOCKS
Al-Asaad said Israeli forces ordered those whom they forced out of their homes not to return until the operation ends, which he anticipated could last several days.
“They are continuing to complete their control of the city,” he told Reuters, with Israeli forces setting up roadblocks and so far detaining at least 22 Palestinians.
The West Bank is home to 2.7 million Palestinians who have limited self-rule under the Palestinian Authority. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis have settled there.
Wednesday’s activity extends military operations launched by Israeli forces across parts of the northern West Bank this year, beginning with the city of Jenin in January days after US President Donald Trump returned to the White House.
Since Hamas carried out the Oct. 7 attack on Israel from Gaza two years ago, Israel has sharply curtailed movement in the West Bank, with new checkpoints erected and some Palestinian communities effectively sealed off by gates and roadblocks.
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A Reason for Jewish Hope: Perseverance Has Always Seen Us Through
The Western Wall and Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Photo: Wikimedia Commons.
In recent years, Jews across the world have witnessed intimidation, harassment, and even instances of violence. These developments are serious, and they deserve our full attention. Yet even in this climate, we must remember that we have, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt once said, “a rendezvous with destiny.” That rendezvous, when viewed across the arc of Jewish history, remains a profoundly hopeful one.
It is easy to feel overwhelmed in a moment like this. But perspective matters. If one were to graph the trajectory of the Jewish people across millennia, the line would not appear as a clean upward slope. It would look more like a stock market chart — containing multiple peaks and valleys. And yet, despite every downturn, the long-term trend has always been upward. It is important to recognize this as we endure the news cycle on a daily basis.
Children often repeat sayings like, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” or “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” We know reality is more complicated: words can harm, and challenges can shake us, but those old sayings contain a deep truth. Hardship, while never sought after, can strengthen us and forge unity. When we remember who we are — and what we have already overcome — we rediscover the inner steel that has carried our people through history’s darkest chapters.
This perspective is helpful today, especially as we confront new challenges from seemingly every direction. In New York City, for example, we will have a mayor — Zohran Mamdani — whose positions and rhetoric pose real questions as to whether he will defend Jewish people in New York against those who want to intimidate our community. The recent protest held outside a synagogue hosting a Nefesh B’Nefesh event was not just disruptive; it was frightening. Mamdani’s official response — which criticized the event itself — was lacking to say the least.
But even here, it is important to have perspective. Compared to the past violence and destruction we have been through, the challenges of this moment — though real — are not insurmountable. And unlike many eras of the past, today we have power and resources to fight back, and a state that exists to protect Jews with a Jewish army.
This does not mean that we are just passive passengers on history’s ride. Quite the opposite. We have obligations to resist with all our might in education, in advocacy, in political engagement, and in communal solidarity. We must defend our institutions and support those on the front lines, and we must cultivate the courage to stand proudly as Jews and supporters of the only Jewish state at a time when hiding might feel easier.
But humility is also part of wisdom. We are a people of roughly 15 million among billions. There are limits to the amount of influence we can exert on the world around us — and we can’t beat ourselves up too much about things that remain largely out of our control. The winds of history blow with a force larger than any one community. We have great challenges and even greater opportunities that point toward a future of continued growth, strength, and security.
It is natural to feel concern, even fear, when living through a period of backlash. Regression always feels permanent when you are inside it. But history tells a different story. This moment may be a valley, but valleys precede rises. We have every reason to believe that a rise is coming. Our rendezvous with destiny has never changed — and it is brighter than this moment suggests.
Daniel Rosen is the Co-founder of a Non-profit Technology company called Emissary4all which is an app to organize people to impact the narrative and move the needle on social media and beyond . He is the Co-host of the podcast “Recalibration”. You can reach him at drosen@emissary4all.org